


Artistic Veggie Platters

by Alithea



Series: Violet Art [1]
Category: Noir - Fandom, Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Multi, f/f - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alithea/pseuds/Alithea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU-Crossover. Shiori attends a baby shower and suddenly finds herself inspired to pursue an old dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistic Veggie Platters

"Hey, who ate all the cucumbers?"

The question had been half mumbled as Shiori stared at the three veggie platters on the table with noticeably vacant slots where the aforementioned vegetable (she knew it was really a fruit, but everyone called it a vegetable and she refused to argue) were supposed to have been.

She sighed.

It was small thing, not worth getting worked up over, although she secretly quested the room with her violet eyes to see who the perpetrator might be. However, no one else at the baby shower seemed to have any excess cucumbers on their plate. She would just have to live with carrots and some radishes.

She wasn't sure how she got invited to these kinds of events. She didn't know the expectant mother all that well, but she supposed since she had been working with Ezra for nearly a year it was only polite to be given an invitation. She usually just showed up for the food and because she didn't have much going on during the weekend anyway.

She let out a sigh, took her plate and went to sit in an empty seat where she might be able to avoid being roped into playing some sort of bizarre game. It was bad enough that she had the stupid clothes pin stuck to her shirt.

As she sat down she crossed her legs and before she could even think of correcting herself (she didn't like to play and yet somewhere in her she played all the same) a young woman walked up to her.

"You're crossing your legs," she said quietly, almost meekly. It was the kind of voice that was completely unsuspecting, which meant that given the right motivation the girl was probably fairly fierce.

Shiori shrugged and handed the clothes pin over with a shrug. "I never win these kinds of things anyway."

The young woman took it with a small nod and an added "hmm". Then she took the clothes pin and stuck it with the others she had collected along the bottom of her pink sweater, trotting off towards the table with the refreshments.

It was an odd party. Shiori had been to her fair share of baby and bridal showers, but this one took the prize for most interesting. She'd never even suspected that Ezra might be a lesbian, but she was apparently one of the many that didn't fit the stereotype. A passing fear in her wondered if she had received the invitation because Ezra thought she might be one too, but then she decided that that was not the case. That would have just been too silly. What really caught her as odd was that no matter who the expectant mother was, the baby shower was almost always the same, right down the cheesy party games, and punch bowl filled with the host's own special recipe.

Looking around the room again she caught sight of the young woman who had snagged her clothes pin, previously. She must have had half the clothes pins in the room. The young woman was in a sort of sharp competition with someone Shiori recognized as one of the supervisors from work. She wondered who was going to win.

The party moved on at a steady pace. The presents were opened and then the rest of the obligatory games were played. Shiori managed to win the game where she had to draw a baby, but she had to do it with the paper on top of her head. At least she could take some comfort in knowing her artistic skills were better than most.

She was looking at her little drawing when the same young woman from before approached her. Shiori looked up and smiled slightly waiting for any forth coming conversation.

"Um...can I see," the young woman asked and pointed to the paper with the little doodle of a baby on it.

"Sure." Shiori handed the paper over. "It's not exactly great...but I suppose it was good enough."

"Hmm...Are you an artist?"

In part she blinked back in surprise and then the more selfish part of her beamed with pride. She shook her head and then the young woman looked back at her, head slightly tilted to the side, and with an expression of slight wonder.

"You should be," the young woman finally said.

"If you say so."

"I do..Uh..." She riffled in her pockets for a moment and then pulled out a card. "If you're ever interested, this gallery would be good to go to."

Shiori took the outstretched card and looked at it. It read:

Noir Galleries

Mireille Bouquet -Owner

"Is it your gallery?" She was just making polite conversation, at least, that's what she told herself.

The young woman shook her head. "No. I do show there."

"Well thank you. I'll... I'll think about it."

And then the young woman smiled cutely, which was oddly disconcerting.

You never seem to know what you want  
Until you get it  
You never seem to think of your dreams  
Until they come true  
You wait for Chance to hand you opportunity  
And when it knocks  
You aren't sure you want to open the door  
All good dreamers pass this way  
Into the mire and the murk  
All good dreamers think this way  
So it just comes down to being willing to work

Shiori had been pulling out the small card and looking at it repeatedly over the week. Since leaving the baby shower she had been filled with an awkward reawakening of her former dreams. She had wanted to be an artist in high school but she gave it up. She let it all go away because she just didn't think she had what it took to make it.

It was stupid to give up before she even tried, but the real world didn't work in her favor. In the real world she was always the ordinary girl in the shadows. No one ever really remembered her. Sure, she received random invitations to parties, but they were all courtesy invitations. She was positive no one ever expected her to actually show up, or even remember that she had been asked to attend.

The business card was calling to her though. It planted an idea in her head, and because of that idea she had pulled out her sketch book from high school. She thumbed through it and seeing the talent she had made her feel miserable. It was even worse because she couldn't think of a good reason why she had let it go besides her own feelings of worthlessness. How could she be so stupid?

She took out the card again and grabbed the phone. Then she put the phone down again and looked at her old sketches. She didn't know what to do. Part of her said that she should just take it slowly. She should probably practice a little before buying a canvas and doing something major. Part of her said she should just give up now and resign herself to a life of data entry and secretarial work. And then another part of her, which was a little more reasonable, said, "Just take your old sketch book down to the gallery and maybe see what they think. If anything you can always just chicken out and be happy for the trip to see some art work."

Shiori decided to listen to that last part of herself.

The gallery was tucked away amid the fast paced movement of the downtown shopping area. It was called Union Square in keeping with an age old tradition, and Shiori wondered how many different cities had a section of it that was named similarly. It was a very small but quaint gallery, and the recent exhibits graced the walls with the names of the pieces typed out on small white cards with the prices in a smaller print just below.

Looking around she wasn't sure she wanted to stay. It was really going to be too much to even think of talking to the owner. She'd just browse for a moment and then leave, with all her shattered dreams where they were (scattered about the floor and duly trampled upon).

She wasn't an artist. She did not understand the first thing about art. What made something art anyway? What made the very nice and pretty painting of a woman with butterfly wings cost two hundred dollars less than the one next to it that had all the big blotches of terrible colors?

She had no idea, and when it came to it she was not so sure she wanted to. She had never drawn anything thinking she might make money off of it. She could not see how anyone would want to pay her to do something that was explicitly easy for her. It was so easy it was just another thing that made her feel ordinary.

With a deep breath she decided it was time to leave the gallery and forget the nonsense that a simple business card had elicited. Before she could get near the door though the young woman from before entered the gallery and quickly spotted her. She looked very calm and neither happy nor sad, but Shiori looked a little deeper into that outward layer and saw a lot of thought shifting through the young woman's head.

She smiled as the young woman got a little closer and tried to think of a proper excuse to get out of there, and quickly. Quickly before she thought she might have a shot at doing something simple that would make her happy for the rest of her life.

A brief pause caused her to second guess her primary thinking.

"Did you talk to her?" The young woman asked and pointed over to a desk where a blonde woman was chatting on the phone.

Shiori shook her head instead of going for a lie. She couldn't think of a good one, and more importantly she really didn't want one.

With a shrug the young woman stated, "Well, let me introduce you."

A perfect opportunity to escape was lost as she followed the young woman over to the desk just as the blonde set the phone down. The two exchanged quick glances and then the brown eyed young woman from the baby shower said:

"This is her."

The blonde quirked an eyebrow and then smiled. "Kirika here thinks she's found the next Picasso," the blonde said with a wink.

"Uh... I wouldn't say-"

"Do you have a sketch book or something? I'll be blunt. I'm only doing this because she asked me to. She's very smart and a great artist herself, but I'm not sure how she ever thought of...Well, let's see what you have."

Shiori went cold and then for reasons she could not fathom held out her old sketch book and waited for the giant hammer of doom and despair to slam down and shatter her already shattered dreams into dust. She gave Kirika an uneasy look as the blonde flipped through the sketch book, occasionally arching an eyebrow and making an "hmm" or an "oh" noise.

"Mirielle?"

The blonde looked up from the sketch book at the sound of her name and glanced over at the subdued young woman and then over to Shiori who looked a little paler than normal. She grinned and then shut the book.

"What's your name?"

"Shiori...Shiori Takatsuki."

"Well, Shiori, I'm forced into an awkward situation."

"Really?" She wished her heart would stop beating so fast.

"Indeed... You see, I only have one open slot for the next amateur show."

"Oh, I see-"

"But quite frankly I think you'd need more than one space, especially if I'm to show you off better."

"Excuse me."

Kirika stood next to her with a slight smile on her face. It was, in some ways, possible to see that deep inside the young woman was doing a happy little dance of triumph, but only if you looked really closely.

Mirielle shrugged and stated, handing back the sketch book, "You have talent. If I'd have seen you around the art scene earlier I wouldn't have wasted my time on Mr. Ugly-Colored-Blotches. Unfortunately he sells well, but... I'll leave you with Kirika and she can fill you in on the details."

The two stepped outside and Shiori caught her breath. Kirika informed her that the show was in a week and to have her piece to the gallery the day before the show.

"I can't believe this is happening to me," Shiori stated quickly. "Nothing like this happens to me."

"Maybe that's why it's happening. Like a little happy ending for life...sometimes things happen that way."

"I suppose so."

"Are you going to be okay with all this? It's just one show after all."

She sighed, "I'd feel better if I knew what I was going to show."

Kirika seemed to deeply consider the statement and then she nodded and said, "You just have to paint or draw what you have inside you. It's just one piece."

"Yeah, one piece...One piece, that apparently has to show the local art community everything I am."

"Not everything...just something."

Memory leads you home into the darkness  
You wander down the forgotten and regretful roads  
And you think about who you really are  
You face the mirror and the mirror never lies  
It shows you everything you don't want to be  
And you want to be extraordinary  
You want to shine, but you're dull  
But is it so true...  
Is that really you  
Aren't you something more  
Weren't you ever something more, even if it wasn't to yourself

The apartment did not have suitable light. It was dimly lit and not the sort of place an artist dwelled. Or maybe it was, but it certainly was not the right place for Shiori at the moment.

She put on a sweater and stepped out onto her balcony with a brand new sketch book. She sat at her little table and started to sketch the view. When she had finished that she sketched a car, a leaf, two trees, a cat, and someone she saw waiting out in front of his apartment building for a ride. They were quick sketches and did not take much time for her to do.

Looking at them she smiled to herself, because they were pretty good for someone who had not put pencil to paper in nearly four years. However, they were not her, and they certainly weren't anything she could use to inspire something she would want to show to a large group of people.

She took a deep breath and put down the new sketch book. She walked into her room and pulled out the old one, thumbing through it slowly and trying to imagine what it was that the gallery owner had seen that she did not.

Shiori put the book down and thought about high school. She hadn't changed much from that time. She was still the normal and not so noticeable girl. She still fell into doing things just to make people like her. She was nice to the right kinds of people, and she gossiped when it suited her to do so. But it wasn't her.

The real her was not a nice and immediately friendly person. The real her was critical of everything around her. She saw past the surface of everyone she met to see what they really thought (or so she believed, and usually she was right on target). In high school she would sit everyday under a tree and just watch people walking by. If she saw something interesting she would start to sketch. She never had friends that were actually friends, because they didn't know her. No one ever really knew her at all, except-

And the thought made her go to her closest. She started to dig through it, and, finally, way in the back she found an old box.

The box was filled with miscellaneous keepsakes, old papers, old paintings, and then, there, at the very bottom was her other sketch book. The one she kept hidden from view, the one that was not for others to look at because that was the sketch book where she kept her secrets. Her secret crushes, enemies, wants, desires, fears, and, indeed, if there was anything that would show the world exactly who Shiori Takatsuki was, it was in that book.

She had grown out of some of those secrets of course. She had gotten over some of her fears, but there was one secret, one desire that she hadn't gotten over. She was not sure she ever would.

 

Everything else from the box was shoved back into the closet and then she took the other sketch book and took it over to her bed. She waited for a minute and then she opened it up. She went through every page very slowly as the memories attached to the sketches and drawings built up within her.

There was the one sketch, although there were others on the same subject (the same person), that stood out from all the others. There it was, a part of her that she hated, dreaded, but loved so much it hurt to remember why she ruined it all. And when she ruined something she was spectacularly successful at it.

Shiori shut her eyes and fought the feelings that grew in her stomach that were part disgust with herself and part desire, a want that she could not understand. It always remained, and she did not care to fathom the reasons why.

That would do. She could take that old sketch and turn it into something worth showing. She was sure of it. She had one chance and maybe it would be the end of her searching for foolish dreams. She would gladly risk all her dreams on that sketch. She would gladly do anything to try and get that feeling outside herself and onto a canvas. A blank page, a canvas all white waiting to be filled and it had been a long, long time since she had felt the full force of what filling the spaces meant to her.

Whenever you wonder how I feel  
Whenever you question my intent  
You have to look here  
The things I create  
The words I use  
The pictures I draw  
Look to the void I fill with new wonders  
Look to the abstract I mold into form  
I am there within those spaces  
Between the points where the dark meets the white  
Where something fills the nothing  
I am there in those spaces  
With all I have to offer and all I can give

Work had been a strain for her. She kept thinking of the limited amount of time she had and she could barely concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing. She muddled through though. She forced herself to work and kept up her normal charade. She only had a couple more days left, and then she would have to take what she had to be shown. It made her nervous, the very thought of it all.

She was taking her time though. She had to take her time, especially on the subject she was working on. It couldn't be rushed. She would be fine in front of the canvas and then she would have to stop because she would be pulled by the memory. The weight of all that had been bearing down on her and making her feel too much. She wished she had someone to talk to about it. And then she remembered Kirika.

Shiori was never good at approaching people to make friends. Usually what would happen was a group would be chatting about something and then someone would perk up and ask her random opinion. So it was really out of her element when she ventured back to the gallery and upon finding Kirika there, began to engage in an actual conversation.

The two went out to grab a coffee which seemed to greatly amuse the gallery's owner, but in the sort of way that a spouse is amused when her husband is spending a little too much time with his new secretary. Shiori did her best to shrug off the implications.

Kirika was a naturally quiet person. She listened really well though. In a way Shiori could almost imagine that the young woman could pick up everything that she wasn't saying, or couldn't find the words to say. Were all artists like that? She had to wonder. Was that what being an artist was, showing the things that one couldn't say but were there, buried beneath the surface?

Shiori wanted the answer to be yes, but she also had a feeling it was deeper than that as well.

"Hmm." The sound was an expression of so much when it came from the brown eyed young woman. Kirika sipped her coffee and then said, "I think I should get back."

"Of course. Hey, you and Mireille... are you two-"

"Three years."

"Oh!" Shiori often surprised herself when she was correct about things.

"Yes..." Kirika gave her an interesting look and then said, "I'm sure you'll be able to finish on time. Sometimes you have to fight through the memories you aren't comfortable with, but remembering is better than not knowing anything."

Shiori grimaced and said her goodbyes. As she wandered back to her apartment she took in the artist's parting words and as she pondered them she felt that they were right. With a deep breath she knew that with one painting she'd be stepping into the world's view and confessing all.

The nearly completed painting waited for her and she picked up a brush and stared at the canvas for a moment taking in the colors, and the lines, patient brush strokes. She shut her eyes and began to remember.

In high school everyone mistook Shiori for an underclassman because of her height. She was very petite, and it seemed she always would be. Everyone was usually apologetic about the mistake, but there was only one person who never made that mistake, a girl who was the captain of the fencing team, and was loved and feared by nearly everyone on the campus.

The first time she had ever seen that girl (tall, graceful, light auburn locks that where almost surreal in their length) she had to draw her. It was the girl's eyes. They were so sad even under the strain of a grin. Those eyes were sad, lonely, and lost.

Shiori saw those eyes and understood no one saw that girl for who she was. She was cool and popular, but completely alone in the crowds. Even the co-captain of the team seemed unaware of who his captain really was. And, then, of course there was also the obligatory boyfriend who trailed after the girl. He was even more clueless than the others.

Sad lonely eyes of green that begged for release, but the girl was too stoic for her own good. The girl hid herself away behind walls so as to conceal the things she truly desired, or perhaps it was that she was afraid of what she wanted. Shiori was never sure, but one thing she always felt as she watched from the sidelines. She was certain that under different circumstances, if she and that girl were friends, she'd resent every moment of pretense. That kind of girl would only ever befriend someone like her out of pity, and, yet, deep inside she knew that was completely wrong as well. She'd force herself to feel that way. She'd corner her emotions and turn everything into jealousy and distrust.

She sketched that girl and then a few months later by random chance she'd be buried by emotions she didn't know how to deal with. And she'd have to ruin everything, because she couldn't stand herself. She'd break it all into tiny pieces so she could hide everything better, under a bed, in a closet but away from the world because she couldn't be like that. She couldn't be like that, even if she knew it was a lie. And she lied to herself best of all.

When she had been in high school she had found herself in the sudden company of one of the most popular girls in school. She found herself enjoying the short moments of companionship and, oddly enough, being accepted for who she really was. Then one day when she was lost in the pull of green eyes, lost to beauty in the longing of a melancholy gaze she stepped completely outside herself and took what she wanted (she would rage within herself to deny it, she would later berate and tear herself to shreds over the whole of it) and kissed that girl. Kissed her fiercely and with everything she was until they were lost for breath. And that had only been the beginning, but it was also the end. She couldn't keep up with something like that for long. It had to break. It did.

And now she was standing in front of the completed painting. A portrait of two girls and she wanted to say they were in love, but she wasn't sure she could allow herself that. She had wanted a lot in that moment, but she was not the kind of girl who got what she wanted. She didn't get her wishes to come true. She was forgettable and she supposed that in the end that's what she ultimately became...forgotten.

You paint yourself in colors for all the world to see  
You lay your heart on display and wonder what they think  
As you paint yourself blue and green  
As you show yourself cut open red and pink  
As you hide in shadows purple and black  
On and again into what feels like forever  
The color of your heart  
The feel of your heart  
And memory presses into you calling you cruel  
The color is smeared across the canvas  
It's heavy with all you've ever been  
You paint yourself in colors  
Making a rainbow of yourself

The evening had been going well, or at least she felt more at ease. There were a lot of other artists there at the show, and some were not even being displayed. Thus far no one had made a snide remark about her offering, although she caught a few conversations that were deeply entrenched in things she really had no idea about or care for. She heard words like form and content, meaning and composition. She wished that someone in the room could just look at a painting and say, "That's cool." Or perhaps even, "I guess it's okay." Those were words she understood and could take with her and do something with.

Towards the end of the evening Mirielle had found her and took her aside for a moment. Shiori thought her heart was going to explode in her chest from the tension.

"I know this is your first painting in a long time…"

"Yeah." It was a bad idea, why did she even try to do this?

"And I know this is your first showing..."

"Uh-huh." The hammer was going to fall any minute, she could tell. She should just go and get a broom to help with the clean up of her shattered soul.

"But the thing is... "

She felt herself wincing.

"I've already had about twenty offers for this painting of yours and they're all reaching into their pockets as deep as they will go."

She blinked. She thought she felt the world stop for a moment, but Mirielle just kept going on about how much money people were willing to pay for that painting and did she think she could possibly put together a bigger showing. And, "Oh yes, well this one gentleman is interested in becoming your backer and manager, but I think you should try..."

It all sort of blended together after that. She was smiling a little more and talking with people a little better. Half of her was sure that the good feeling would be trampled at any minute by someone, but it didn't come. Everyone liked her piece. Everyone wanted more. And she wasn't really prepared for how it made her feel, but she was certain she would do anything to stop herself from ruining it.

As the crowd died away Shiori stood in front of the painting. She still liked the sketch better, but she wasn't going to argue if someone wanted to buy the painting. When she felt herself being watched she turned to face Kirika who was grinning ever so slightly.

"It's a very good painting," Kirika said.

"Thank you!"

"It says a lot about you."

"Does it?"

"Mmm... Looks like things are changing for you."

"If I keep thinking it will go away. Maybe it will last a long time."

"Maybe... Mirielle wants to set you up on a blind date."

"I'd ask why, but I won't."

"As long as you're fine with it."

"Fine, just don't expect me to like it."

The End.


End file.
